After the Fall
by BreezySkye
Summary: After all of Heaven falls, God brings Gabriel back to help the Winchesters, their prophet, and their fallen angel. Spoilers through 8.23
1. Chapter 1

Gabriel woke up.

That was the first sign that something was completely and utterly _off_—he wasn't supposed to wake up. Angels didn't just _wake up_ when they—_oh_. Gabriel had died.

He remembered dying. It wasn't one of the most pleasant things he had experienced—he could remember the cold bite of his own angel blade, the warmth of Lucifer's hands, the absolute searing _agony_ as his grace was shredded apart; his energy, his _essence_ being blown into non-existence.

You don't just _wake up_ from that.

He wasn't in Heaven; he knew that, at the very least. It wasn't beautiful, or bright. It was rather dim, actually, and smelled of alcohol and dust. He sat up and fell back immediately, clapping a hand to his head. Okay, wow. He was woozy. He had never, ever felt woozy, or nauseous, or lightheaded—or anything else he was feeling right now. He felt _cold_. And the wooden floor under his back was uncomfortably hard and there was something digging into the back of his leg that was _painful_.

With more effort than it should have taken, he focused his eyes. There were flurries of dust motes dancing in the air, illuminated by sunlight seeping in through the cracked walls. He sat again, slower this time, and looked around.

Gabriel was in a run-down shack. That, at least, was obvious—it didn't look like anyone had been here for _years_. There were footsteps, though, breaking an even pattern in the dust covering the floor. They obviously weren't his, so he realized that he probably wasn't here alone.

What was going on?

He coughed awkwardly and called out. "Uh… Anyone else, you know, here?" There was a clang of something dropping, tripping, awkward footfalls, and a ragged face appeared aroung the corner of a doorframe.

"Oh! You're awake! That's good, that's really good—great, actually—" The man was wringing his hands was he stepped into the room. "What can you remember? What's your name? Do you, uh, do you remember dying?" The strange man was anxious, nervous, and Gabriel recognized him.

"Aren't you Chuck Shurley? One of the prophets?" It was ingrained into every angel—the archangels especially—the names of every past, present, and future prophet in any possible timeline. It was a lot of names—but Gabriel remembered Chuck because Chuck had originally been assigned as his. That was eons ago, before Gabriel had fled heaven after Lucifer's fall, but _still_. He would recognize his prophets anywhere. "What am I doing here? What happened?" Gabriel had managed to clamber onto his feet, his _damn_ migraine worsening from the strain of it.

Chuck gave an edgy jolt when he saw Gabriel's hand move to his temple. "Oh. _Oh_." He repeated, with significantly more guilt. "Let me go… Grab you an Advil or something." Mumbling something about _overlooking the obvious_, the prophet fled the room.

Gabriel located a worn-out couch pressed against the wall and he stumbled over to it. His head _seriously_ hurt. He didn't know what was happening—why he was alive, why he was shaking it up with a prophet of God—but he was going to get some answers out of the man when he came back.


	2. Chapter 2

Chuck smiled softly when he returned—a glass of water in one hand, a plastic bottle of Advil in the other—and saw Gabriel curled up on the couch, sleeping soundly. He hadn't known what to expect—he had resurrected Castiel a few times, yes, but that was always immediately after his death and before his Grace had a chance to dissipate into the cosmic energy of it all. Not to mention that the young angel was a seraph, so it was significantly easier than raising an _archangel_, even when he had created them in the first place.

Creating was getting harder. He had faced it millennia ago, at least in the way humans conceived time—he was dying. He had abandoned Heaven in hopes that his children could live without him; grow, learn, _explore_ without him around. And he had wanted the chance to be around while they became self-aware, to make sure that all would be stable when he was gone, for good.

And that had backfired, totally.

Out of his four eldest, the ones he had highest hopes for—Michael, Lucifer, Raphael, Gabriel—two were in the Cage, and two were dead. Well, only one now. He had managed to raise Gabriel—not in his prime, but it had /worked/. With his waning power, he hadn't even thought he could accomplish it.

And, because his power was waning, all he could do was stand by while his children died. All he could do was stand by when his children tore into each other—quite emphatically, actually—over whether or not to follow the outdated word of their absent father. All he could do was stand by when his children—_all_ his children—fell from grace for the simplistic revenge of the angel who was once the Scribe of God. This was the furthest thing from what he had wanted—but one good _did_ come from it, as light always finds a place to shine from the shadows.

Castiel; such a young, innocent seraph taking full advantage of his freedom of choice. He felt a rush of paternal pride when he thought of the bright little angel. He had even gone so far as to preach to the other angels about free will—everything that God had wanted for his children and more. Castiel _got_ it, and after a few encounters with the little seraph, Gabriel had gotten it, too.

This was why Chuck had chosen Gabriel to be the one to bring back, over Raphael and the scores of angels who had perished from his negligence. Gabriel _understood_, he understood the unspoken, unwritten, unvoiced plan God had for his children.

Chuck's hand rubbed down over his face as he caught a glimpse of Dean Winchester pacing angrily. The one downside of choosing to be born into the class of prophets was the constant _visions_. He took two of the Advil he had brought for Gabriel and sat down on the end of the couch with his laptop.

And so he started to type his grand plan as it revolved around the Winchesters.


	3. Chapter 3

Gabriel woke to the clicking of a keyboard, annoyingly loud in the otherwise dead-silent room. He cracked open an eye and glared at Chuck, who was sitting on the end of the couch by the archangel's feet. The disheveled, ragged prophet was hunched over a laptop, face twisted in concentration as his fingers hammered on the keys.

"If you don't stop that noise, I'm gonna smite you." He threw an arm over his eyes—his head _still_ hurt, albeit less from his nap. His _nap_. Angels didn't sleep; what was going on?

Chuck let out a nervous, tittering chuckle that quickly turned into a dry cough as Gabriel swung himself into a sitting position next to the prophet, who was grimacing. "I wish Dean would stop picking up women. You have no idea how _weird_ it is to have visions of that guy fu—"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it." Gabriel huffed in annoyance.

Chuck timidly set his laptop down, retrieving the glass of water and two Advil. He held them out to the angel like they were in danger of exploding. "Take these—they'll help with your head."

Gabriel obediently took them from the prophet, too absorbed in his headache to argue. He stared at them suspiciously before Chuck quietly added, "Put them in your mouth, take a mouthful of water, tilt your head back, and swallow."

"I know that!" Gabriel snapped. He did as Chuck said, grimacing as they went down. He glared at the prophet. "I need some answers. First off—how am I alive?" That question seemed the most prudent that the moment. From what he knew, you can't just resurrect an angel—you can't create something from nothing, even _God_ needed materials for creation.

"You're alive because I—" Chuck paused awkwardly. "God has a task for you. You missed a hell of a lot while you were out."

Gabriel perked up at that. "How long was I 'out'?"

Chuck shrugged in response. "A few years, but who's counting?"

Gabriel stood, managing to tower over the other man while being close in height. "Lucifer. Michael. Winchesters. _What happened while I was gone?_" He practically hissed the words at Chuck, and the man cowered as if the archangel's words were knives being thrown.

"SamandDeanandCasputLuciferandMichaelinhellbutRaph aelisdeadandnowtherearenoangelsleft." Chuck said, gasping for breath at the end of his panicked, messy reply.

Gabriel jolted in disbelief. "What do you mean, 'no angels left'?" There were always angels. Stupid prophet, that's what Heaven was _for_. He felt a pang of sadness at mention of Raphael's death and his brother's imprisonment—as much as he disliked his family, he loved them too, and hadn't wished death upon any of them.

Chuck sighed, visibly relaxing when Gabriel stood down. "Metatron tore out everyone's grace for revenge. There are literally no angels left but him—and Michael and Lucifer, because ethey were in the Cage and didn't get the full force of the blast. He used Castiel's grace to do it—he tricked the Winchesters." Chuck paused again, letting that sink in.

Stupid _freaking_ Winchesters. They probably only managed to trap Lucifer and Michael from pure, dumb luck—irresponsible, reckless, _foolish_ humans. And, where the hell had they found _Metatron_, of all people? _Heaven_ had been unable to find Metatron. Then again, Heaven had been unable to find Gabriel but they had smoked him out anyway. Stupid and rash they may be, but things had the habit of falling into place perfectly for them.

He was jerked out of his thoughts as the prophet quietly declared the one thing that could make his re-birth _worse_.

"God needs your help, Gabriel."


	4. Chapter 4

Dean was stalking through the batcave, going down random corridors and through random rooms without taking anything in. The few times he paced through the library, Sam had tried to catch his attention but got a few choice words and a finger for his efforts. He eventually gave up, letting Dean walk it off. Dean was all-out _losing it_, acting irrationally because it had been three weeks since all _Heaven_ had broken loose, literally, and they still hadn't found Cas. Dean had gone as far as placing a missing persons report in every police station across the state—but they both knew Cas could be anywhere. Dean wouldn't even consider the fact that Cas might not be somewhere that he couldn't get to. He had been driven out of his mind with worry.

Sam was now talking to Kevin about whatever they could think of that didn't involve anything even remotely paranormal. They had reached the end of _that_ conversation rather quickly, and were now just sitting quietly, listening as Dean stalked around their home, kicking walls and cursing. A few times Sam had heard something shatter and hoped that Dean wasn't smashing anything important, or that would curse them.

Sam turned his head to Kevin as he piped up quietly. "So now what? With all the angels? I mean, if they're all human, more or less…" Kevin was taking all of this easier than Sam thought he would—of course, the Advanced Placement student had been through a lot since meeting the Winchesters. Sam figured that Kevin was used to learning disturbing things about the world he had been roughly thrown into.

Sam shrugged in reply and opened his mouth to reiterate the fact that he had _no idea_ about _anything_ anymore, when Crowley slithered out of the kitchen and glared at the tall hunter and his companion. "Do you have nothing but cheap beer here? You and your brother are the embodiment of class, Sammy."

Crowley had adopted the nickname Dean called him by—not referring to him 'Moose' since Sam had tried the purification ritual. The man had come with them after the angels had fallen, and although Crowley was still _technically_ a demon, he acted human and still broke down on bad days. Sam was the only one who could calm him, console him—and Sam would never admit it to anyone, but he was glad he was useful to somebody. Even if that somebody happened to be the ex-King of Hell with a seriously guilty conscience and an addiction to the finer alcohols. Which they had none of at the moment, because as Crowley had pointed out, Dean loved his cheap beer.

Sam repeated his shrug. "I have no idea. To both questions. We just need to… Ride this out, wait for something to happen so we can know what we're supposed to _do_."

Kevin's fingers stroked absentmindedly over the angel tablet, Crowley huffed and sulked against the wall, and Sam leaned forward with his elbows braced against the table as he cradled his head in his hands. The three misfits descended back into a sorrowful, empty silence that was occasionally broken by a gruff curse or a slam from where Dean was venting his fury and helplessness out of the walls.

They needed a miracle.


	5. Chapter 5

Gabriel gawked at Chuck. He would have refused to believe the rumpled man, other than the fact that_ he couldn't feel his wings_. He couldn't feel his wings and he had a headache and he had _slept_ and now he was feeling a really uncomfortable sensation in his lower abdomen. Oh _Jesus_, humans were nasty—he had to _eat_. He was fine with eating by _choice_, but now that he _had _to, it was completely different.

"So if I'm a freaking _useless_ human now, why did Daddy bring me back? If he needed an angel fluttering around and extending his Godly hand, why did he, you know, bring me back _without my fucking grace_?" Gabriel was grateful for the second chance at life—he really, really was—but if his father needed an angel to clean up the chaos this time, why had he brought Gabriel back graceless?

The prophet rubbed a hand over his face and let out a tired sigh. "Well, maybe God, you know, doesn't have enough juice to fully make you... You." He gesticulated towards the archangel. "Look, you're alive—yeah, you need to breathe and eat and stuff—but out of all your brothers and sisters he chose _you_ to bring back, Gabriel. That should mean something."

"It does… I just don't understand." Gabriel was furious at his own confusion—God was never an easy father to comprehend, but this was a whole new realm of _what_. He exhaled slowly, steadily, before adding. "Okay, where are tweedle-dee and tweedle-dumb? If I have to save their asses _again_, I need to know where they are."

Chuck visibly calmed, motioning for the archangel—the _man_—to follow him out of the room as he spoke. "First, you need to make a pit stop in Sioux Falls. Castiel… Well, he never made his way back to the Winchesters. I don't really get many visions about him, not when he isn't in close contact, but enough to know that he's in a tight spot…"

The rest of the small building was just as run down as the room he was woken up in. When they entered a room that _might've_ been a kitchen at one point, the prophet bent down and hefted up a heavy looking backpack. He offered it out at arm's length to Gabriel. "Food." He explained. "Water. Money. Clothes, a phone, a credit card, a laptop..." Gabriel scowled. He actually needed these things now. He needed transport too, and just as the thought crossed his mind, Chuck continued the list. "There's a car outside, you can drive, right?" Of _course_ Gabriel could drive, he got bored one weekend and taught himself. "There's guns and salt and other stuff in the trunk, you know, just in case. Protected with a demon's trap—just in case. Demons are on the prowl for fallen angels . You probably wont use any of it, but if you nee—"

Gabriel cut him off with a wave of the hand before he grabbed the strap of the backpack. He almost dropped it when Chuck let go—it was _heavy_. "Ye-yeah, I can drive. Sioux Falls? Gotcha. I'm gonna, you know, leave now." And get as far away from the creepy prophet as he could. Something told him that his destination was far away, so he had the drive to mull everything over.

"The phone has the address Castiel is at! And Sam and Dean! And my number, and theirs, if you need anything, or get lost. There's GPS in the car too! If I, uh, see anything, I'll call you, yeah?"

Gabriel gave the prophet an inattentive nod as he sauntered over to the door and pulled it open. "Yeah. You do that. I'll go pick up Cassie while you see things." He walked out a door, took one look at the car that Chuck had for him, and walked back in.

"You're joking, right? There is no way in _hell_ that I'm going to drive that… That /thing/."

Chuck shrugged helplessly. "It's what was available. I'm sorry! Being a prophet of God doesn't exactly have a high pay grade, you know."

Snorting in his annoyance he returned to the car, roaring back at the shack. "What the hell _is_ it?"

A wavering yell answered him. "Ford Ranchero. 1962."

He yanked the driver's door open—it stuck slightly, and creaked. "That doesn't explain why it's _purple_!" Gabriel bellowed indignantly.

He was going to look like a freaking _idiot_ driving this.


	6. Chapter 6

It turns out that Castiel was in Bobby's junk yard.

Only the house had burned down—and there were apparently some hunters still paying for the place because it was otherwise exactly how it had been left. It was left like a tribute to the old hunter, for all he had done. There were broken and rusted cars everywhere—stacked on each other in some spots.

It was fitting. Gabriel hadn't really known the guy, but from the things he had heard he was sure the old man would have liked it.

* * *

That's how Gabriel ended up wandering around the old junkyard, calling Castiel's name. His poor little brother; what was he doing here? Gabriel had it on good word—of a slightly mad, alcoholic prophet—that Cassie was here, so when he didn't answer the calls, Gabriel started searching the cars.

It was dark before Gabriel found Cas, the man was curled up in the backseat of a car that was so broken down he wouldn't've been able to tell what it was if he had found it anywhere else. The sight that met his eyes caused him to puff out a strangled groan of grief.

Castiel was so _thin_. He was practically emaciated, his trenchcoat torn and dark with dirt and blood. He looked bad enough that Gabriel would have sworn he was a corpse if not for the faint, unsteady rise and fall of his brother's chest.

"_Shit_. Cas? Castiel?" He pried open the door. It was so rusted that it fell off its hinges, dropping to the ground with a clatter. Castiel's breath stuttered for a moment before picking back up. He didn't wake. "Crap, crap, _crap_." Gabriel muttered, ducking into the corroded frame of the car. He grasped Castiel's shoulders, shaking gently to wake him.

Castiel's eyes slid open. They were no longer the brilliant, electric blue that Gabriel remembered—they were dull and the color of slate. His gaze unfocused, Castiel's eyes slid over Gabriel. A small sarcastic smile graced him lips as eyes fell closed again. "I'm in Hell, then." He said it as statement—as a _fact_—and that's what stunned Gabriel. Castiel had always been so optimistic and full of life.

"No you're no— Hey! Don't fall back asleep, you idiot!" He forcibly pulled Castiel out of the car, the man's gaunt body limp against his.

Castiel's eyes blinked open. He looked annoyed. "Yes I am. Gabriel died. I would know, it was my fault—I'm either hallucinating or in Hell." He spoke with a lucidity that was surprising, given his state of health.

"Nope. I'm real—promise. Daddy brought me back." He gradually maneuvered Castiel towards where he had parked the Ranchero.

Something flickered alive in the fallen angel's eyes. "Do you have your grace?" He clutched at the lapels of Gabriel's shirt; it was plaid, and he was sure that Chuck was having a laugh over that.

Gabriel shook his head. "No… I'm sorry, Cassie."

What Gabriel had finally identified as _hope_ shimmering behind the other man's eyes died when he denied having his grace. Castiel jerked his head up in a weak, hopeless nod, allowing himself to be led away. Gabriel muttered soothing things to the broken man as they approached the bright purple car that contrasted sharply with the bleakness of the surrounding world. "Let's get you back to your human toys now, yeah?"

Castiel shook him head wearily. "Dean won't—"

"Yes he will." Gabriel cut him off. He wasn't sure what Dean would or wouldn't do, but he supposed he had said the right thing if the way Castiel relaxed was any indication.

When Gabriel managed to get Castiel comfortably in the backseat of the Ranchero, his head rolled and he fixed Gabriel with a stare so broken, so _sorrowful_, it made his heart ache. "I understand, now, why Dean said that."

The fallen angel was delirious. As he closed the door, he heard Castiel's wrecked voice, quiet and almost contemplative.

"I don't deserve to be saved."


	7. Chapter 7

**Thank you for all of your support! Really, it means a lot to me-i love each and every one of you, and thank you for all the reviews! It is much appreciated!**

**I had two very lovely ladies as beta's for this chapter because i couldn't get it to flow quite right. They can both be located over at Tumblr. raggedyangelin221b and im-not-misha-collins.**

**Enjoy!  
**

* * *

Castiel awoke with a pained cry that startled Gabriel so much that he almost swerved off the road. When Gabriel managed to get enough control of the Ranchero to park it haphazardly on the side of the road, he spun around in alarm. "Holy Hell, Cas!"

Castiel was sitting ramrod straight, fingers digging into the leather of the seat. His face was pale except for two bright blooms of red high on his cheeks, and he looked panicked. "Gabriel?" His voice was high, strung-out. "Gabriel, you _died_."

"Yeah, thank you for pointing out the obvious. C'mere," He gestured for the dark-haired man to lean forward. "You look sick." Castiel muttered something in opposition and gave a listless shake of his head. Nevertheless, he leaned forward and allowed Gabriel to press the back of his hand to his forehead. Gabriel had seen humans do it when another was ill. When Gabriel's hand came into contact with skin that was a lot hotter than it should be, he sighed. "Okay, kiddo, we need to get some water in you."

The backpack that Chuck had given him was on the passenger seat. He pulled it closer to him and pulled out a plastic bottle of water after a moment of shifting through the bag's contents. Gabriel pushed it into Castiel's hands. "Twist off the cap and drink it, Cassie."

Castiel's fingers fumbled over the small plastic cap— gaunt face twisted in mild confusion. He looked back up at Gabriel. "I can't… How do I...?" He held the small bottle back out to the ex-archangel. Gabriel took it with a small roll of his eyes and twisted it open, handing the cap and the bottle back to Castiel.

While Castiel drank—great, relieving gulps of the water—Gabriel turned back to the backpack and rifled through it some more. Chuck had seemed overly fond of those pills he'd made Gabriel take for his head. He wasn't sure if they would help Castiel's fever go down any, but it had helped his migraine, and the prophet had enough heavenly foresight to know if he would need the medication. He whooped in triumph when he found a little plastic bottle of Advil, under a small stack of food that seemed composed primarily of jerky and granola. He made a mental note to bitch out the prophet for not packing him anything with sugar or artificial flavoring before popping open the cap and knocking two out into his palm. He held them out to Castiel. "Hey, I think these will help. Chuck gave me some when I woke up."

Castiel unquestioningly took them from the shorter man's outstretched hand—swallowing them with direction from Gabriel. He turned his leaden gaze, bleary and sad, back to his brother. "Chuck is dead too."

Gabriel shook his head. "He isn't, kiddo. Promise. You go back to sleep—I have to get us to the Winchesters. Don't puke in the car." He was beginning to feel oddly protective of the gaudy purple vehicle, as stupid and old as the thing was.

Castiel just nodded and lay back down compliantly, gripping the water bottle like a lifeline. Turning his whiskey-colored eyes back to the road, Gabriel restarted the car.

The rumbling of the engine lulled Castiel back into a sleep laced with fire and hunters and falling angels.


	8. Chapter 8

**I am so sorry i haven't updated guys! I've been busy, what with the last few weeks of school, and now that it's finally out, i have farmwork to do-I'm sory for not getting this to you guys sooner! As an apology, it's about double the other chapters, though. :) **

**I have no beta, any mistakes are my own.**

**I also apparently need a disclaimer. _I do not own Supernatural. _If i did, the show would have higher ratings and Gabriel would still be kickin'.**

* * *

Sam was in the process of separating Kevin and Crowley—"I'm sorry!"—"You killed my mom!"—"_I'm sorry_!"—when he thought he heard something. Dean apparently heard it too, even though he was a few rooms away—he barked for everyone to "_shut the fuck up you idiots_".

The sound came again, louder this time. Someone was knocking on the bunker door. They all looked at each other with wide, panicked eyes as Dean came out of the kitchen holding Ruby's knife and a bottle of holy water. The older hunter crooked his finger at Sam in a signal that he should follow. Sam left Crowley and Kevin staring at each other; Kevin distrustfully and Crowley apologetically.

Dean and Sam stalked towards the door to the bunker carefully. Dean had handed the bottle of holy water to Sam as they walked, and now they were staring warily at the door. The older hunter moved towards the door, slowly pressing his eye against the peephole.

With a shocked gasp Dean dropped the knife, stepped back, and wrenched open the door. He all but flew out the door, his voice full of tension and worry as he shouted something at whoever was standing in front of the door. "Cas? Cas?! What the fuck did you do to—" A long, rigid pause. "Gabriel?"

An irritatingly familiar voice replied with sarcasm. "No, God. Yes, me. No, I'm not dead. Can we come in? It was a long drive. Came from Sioux Falls."

Another achingly long pause. Sam moved forward from the hallway, walked outside, and stopped in shock.

Gabriel was standing in front of Dean, one hand on his hip as he glared at the hunter. The other arm… The other arm was wrapped around Cas.

Cas's head hung forward and his hair, matted and greasy and overgrown, draped in front of his face, obscuring it, but from what Sam could see and from the way Cas's trenchcoat—dirty and blood-specked and torn—hung from his frame, Cas was _starving_. Literally. His arm was slung loosely across Gabriel's shoulders.

"Cas? Man? You all there?" Dean bent down slightly, extracting Cas from the dead archangel's grip.

Gabriel released Cas into Dean's care and stepped back a bit. He pointed a finger at the younger hunter. "You. I got stuff in my car. Come help me carry it." He spun on his heel and stalked in the other direction.

Cautiously, Sam followed. He said the first thing that came to mind. "You can drive?"

"Obviously I can drive. I got Cas here in one piece, didn't I?" When the ex-archangel turned around in irritation, Sam uncapped the bottle of holy water and drenched the other man. Gabriel gave him a sullen glare. "Thanks for that. Really. I needed a shower anyway." He huffed and aimed a finger at the trunk of an _extremely_ purple car. "There's guns in there, Sambo—figure you want to handle those."

Sam eyed the other guy skeptically—people, _archangels_, just didn't return from the dead. "How're you alive?" He asked as he moved to open the trunk of the car.

"I'll save that story for when we're all cuddled up in your Hobbit-hole." Gabriel said dryly, pulling the passenger door open and grabbing a backpack that was half the size that he was.

Sam's skepticism deepened when he wrenched the trunk of the car open and it was packed with an artillery that rivaled the Impala's traveling armada. "Jesus, where did you get all this stuff?" There were the general guns, machetes, something that sprouted wires and buttons that looked suspiciously like a bomb, a ten pound bag of salt, a gallon of holy water, and enough ammunition to supply a small army for a long while.

"Gabriel, not Jesus." Gabriel remarked sardonically. "Again; story for when we're all nestled together inside."

Sam ignored the other man's sarcasm and Started snagging stuff out of the trunk. It was oddly coincidental that it was packed so full of ammo—they had been running low lately. When he pointed that out, the fallen archangel had a strange look come over his face. "Freakin' prophets." He mumbled half-heartedly as he started striding towards the bunker.

"Prophets?" Sam inquired, following the other man. His long strides easily caught him up.

"Wait for story time, Samsquatch." He huffed, annoyed.

* * *

"So, story time!" Gabriel declared contemptuously.

The current population of Team Free Will that was still breathing were crowded into the infirmary room of the bunker, because Dean refused to leave Castiel's side. The hunter was currently sitting on the bed next to the sleeping man, glancing at the fallen angel every time he so much as twitched in his sleep. Gabriel was leaning back in a chair at a dangerous angle, and Sam, Kevin, and Crowley had all taken seats on the edge of the next-closest bed. Sam between the other two, to keep them from killing each other or bursting into tears.

Dean growled in irritation. "Stop joking around and talk, or I'll shoot you." The threat wasn't an empty one.

Gabriel held up his hands defensively. "Okay! Okay! Yeesh. Not much to tell. I woke up. Which I /wasn't/ planning on doing, by the way." The glare he sent at Dean crackled in the air. "But yeah, I woke up about a week ago in a really crappy shed. The prophet was there—"

Dean interrupted him at that. "Kevin's been here with us. You really expect us to believe—"

"You want me to tell this or not?" Barked Gabriel. When Dean answered him with a glowering scowl, he continued. "The prophet _Chuck_ was there." Sam and Dean shared a look.

"Uh, Gabriel?" Sam spoke up. "Chuck is dead."

"Obviously not. He gave me some stuff, told me I was supposed to help the Winchesters again—which, by the way, didn't turn out so great last time—and told me where to find Cas. And then I was on my way." Gabriel huffed out a breath and leaned back farther in his chair, nearly toppling over. Now that he was done, everyone exploded into conversation all at once.

"How is Chuck alive if I'm—"

"Fuckin' angel is lying to—"

"Bloody rich coming from—"

"Calm down Dean; and Cro—"

"Please be quiet."

And just like that, the racket stopped in its tracks.

"Cas?" Dean was immediately leaning over, his expression helpless. Sam rushed over to the two of them, leaving Kevin and Crowley to eye each other with a mix of suspicion—Kevin; and remorse—Crowley.

Cas's eyes slid over Dean's face, over Sam's face, and land on his brother. "Gabriel." His voice was hoarse and barely audible. "I told you not to bring me here." He coughed, and Dean immediately was shoving a bottle of water into his hands.

Gabriel shrugged, his usual smirk soft and his eyes sad. "Not in those words, kiddo."

Cas was trying to protest to both Gabriel and Dean trying to get fluids in him. Dean stubbornly pressed the rim of the bottle to his lips and didn't pull it away until Castiel's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed.

"Cas, why didn't you want to come back?" Dean's voice wavered slightly, giving away the betrayal he was feeling. Everyone in the room knew better than to comment on it, though.

Castiel's eyes slid shut as Dean set the water bottle down. "I…" His broken voice was brimming with pain. "I'm useless to you now."

"No!" Dean said frantically. "Cas, you aren't…" He turned and glared daggers at everyone in the room, his glower telling them to _leave now or else_.

They booked it.


End file.
